


take my hand

by dioramas (nuages)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuages/pseuds/dioramas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>when calum nods, painfully slow and almost angry with his own self as if he didn't mean to, he knows it's laced with alcohol too, and he feels defeated and like a champion all at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Toma mi mano](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172386) by [Deiv17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deiv17/pseuds/Deiv17)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when calum nods, painfully slow and almost angry with his own self as if he didn't mean to, he knows it's laced with alcohol too, and he feels defeated and like a champion all at once.
> 
> or; the one where calum doesn't know how he feels about ashton, not when he's sober, and definitely not when he's drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my first ever 5sos fic and i've only been into these boys for like a month so naturally i know nothing, but tHE SHIPS MAN. THE SHIPS.
> 
> so enjoy this angst!fic brought about by [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7cOt-xFU8Y) (for the idea) and [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0oIzeCvC2Js) (for the feel). this hasn't been beta'd because i don't have 5sos fam friends to talk to (SADLY) but i've double checked for grammar and stuff so things should be okay on that front. also ahoy for me being a generally crap writer that hasn't written in forever (these boys are my new muses).

"dance with me?"

it's laced with alcohol, every single word and every single breathless exhale that follows from the nape of his neck to the base of it, and he's sure. he's sure because it's freezing in here, but ashton's breath is warm against his skin. he's sure because ashton's voice is lower and huskier, and he gives it like a request rather than an invitation, even if he doesn't mean to. he's sure because ashton's hand is on his hip, squeezing ever so slightly to caress his hipbone like he was taking ownership of it, and it's enough to send a shiver up calum's spine that he's never felt before, not once, even if they've violated these kinds of lines of friendship so many times before.

he can feel a heat radiating, even if he's covered in sweat, even if his skin feels like it's been drenched with so much of his own and everybody else around him that it's almost shielding him. it's a heat that he knows is more than real, because it's coming from his stomach like butterflies and burning up like wildfire. his body is reacting and his hormones have gone straight to hell almighty, and they're telling him that this isn't the same, that this isn't just the usual, that this isn't just playful banter and childish humour, this is something else entirely, a different monster he has to face.

"please?"

it could be the stutter of vibrations echoing down his back. it could be that each one is met with a "no" from his brain, starting strong until they fall apart completely, forgotten at the back of his mind. it could be the cold in his body he'd been feeling all night long finally alive, finally warm, just by a touch and a whisper, but he'd be lying. he'd be lying about all of it, because it's not just that, it's not even close. _it's ashton_ , and how his words melt onto his skin, marking him forever, binding them together, twisting his senses into a mess of heightened emotion, of euphoria and shock and hesitation and nervousness, a concentrated mix of everything that's heavier than the drinks he's had all night, and he can't resist, because he's already drunk as it is, but also because it's different, he knows now, and his body is too consumed by the whole thing to escape (fuck what his brain says for now).

when calum nods, painfully slow and almost angry with his own self as if he didn't mean to, he knows it's laced with alcohol too, and he feels defeated and like a champion all at once. ashton smiles, he can feel that as well, because the boy lets out a breath he's been holding like the indignant nod calum just offered was everything he'd been waiting for his entire life, like calum was everything he'd been waiting for his entire life, and calum's breath hitches in his throat when the thought renders in his head. stupid stupid stupid don't think like that you can't think like that so don't. **don't**.

the older boy guides him to a rhythm, holds him steady where he's been holding forever, to a pace that's slow and hypnotic, where the pulse of the beat matches the pulse of their hearts when the two of them get closer (he can feel it thudding against his back, and it's not normal, is it? for it to be beating so strongly, but he lets it go like everything else). it's sensual, and calum eases into it so quickly that it's almost like they were meant to be like this forever, feels a quiver in his bones wherever their bodies collide ( _everywhere_ ), and when ashton nuzzles himself at the base his neck so longingly, his whole body lights up because it's true, this is real and this is how it should be, this is how he's always wanted it even if he's been scared to admit it forever. he doesn't want to leave this, want to leave the heat and the scent and the emotion from ashton becoming his own, never wants to leave ashton becoming his own, but it's still there, the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that's saying he's stupid for doing this, for falling into this, for thinking this isn't anything but the drinks and the tension and the beauty of the feeling.

ashton slides the hand he's been keeping at his hip down to meet calum's own, and calum flinches, reacts so negatively like he's in panic at what was going to happen, at what he'd just agreed to, realization dawning on him, and he turns to face him, to tell him "no" because he's just remembered. he's just remembered that's what his brain was telling him, and that he's not drunk now, no, and he's going to forget this ever happened, but in the middle of a dark room, with the neon lights illuminating his body — his bare muscular arms, his hair all tussled like he tried to get it to look right and then gave up, and the dimples that never leave his face and have never left calum's heart since day one — calum can see stars. he can see constellations in all the different colours of the spectrum as if the galaxy just opened up to him, and everything he'd been waiting for his entire life was staring at him right in the face. he's so beautiful, so beyond the world, and he's standing right there and asking you to dance and offering everything you've ever wanted to you and you're walking away, step by step, further and further.

ashton's brightness dissipates, and the smile he remembers so fondly falters into nothing, and calum's heart breaks when the older boy disappears into the garbled confusion of reds and blues and greens, melting into the crowd of sweaty bodies and drunken confessions in the air. is it weird to think of ashton like a puppy, to think that he'd just broken the poor little guy's heart? he doesn't know, he can't even think straight (ashton as a puppy jesus cal that isn't even right), he's too confused and drunk and lonely, lonelier than before and the next thing he knows his legs have stumbled far into the back of the room where he finds luke asleep on michael's lap, the night's offerings already taking its toll on the youngest ("by like 6 and half months").

"you okay?" michael mouths, and calum can read it on his lips even if the echo can barely reach in the sea of noise, and calum is jealous right now, so jealous that luke is in michael's arms, that luke is sleeping in michael's lap, because he needs that comfort, needs it like the air that's trying to escape from his lungs as he forms words. he's jealous they have each other and calum has no one, when he could have. he could have.

"'m fine." calum finally releases, ruffling his hair and sliding into the couch next to them, and he's not sure if michael can read into it as well as he can in the flickering hues, but michael has always read him right, even without words, and he offers a sympathetic smile and a nod that tells him "it's alright" like he always does, like he knows it will be even if he doesn't. luke may be the leader, but michael's there, he's always there, and god, calum wishes he was half as strong right now to believe in his words.

the boy in his lap stirs, stuck between sleep and reality when he opens his eyes and looks at the two straight in the eye, blushing when he realizes what his head is laying on and growing two shades redder when the weird haired boy smiles at him as he gets up. calum watches the scene unfold intently, and he feels sick, not because it's sweet, not because it's his two friends acting like cute idiots (he'd be all over it, usually), but because he doesn't need this right now, and he wants to walk away from all of this without falling apart like the "no" reverberating down his spine that's coming back to creep on him. he finds a glass on the table half-empty and doesn't even think, just downs it in one go that the other two stare at him confused. he shrugs, because he can't answer, he doesn't have a reason, except he does and he's ignoring it again. he feels a pain at the back of his throat that comes from the sting of the drink and his heart hanging heavy that's so unreal he almost wants to laugh. who does that? who gets chest pains from a stupid little thing? he wants to let it out but he's so out of breath that he intakes air and then chokes on it, voicing out a weak whimper instead, tears starting to spill. he can feel michael placing a hand on his back and he leans away so quickly he almost scares michael away. "sorry, i'm sorry, god sorry" he keeps repeating, like he's trying to force himself to believe that he really is and not just apologizing to michael.

luke steps out of his position and michael follows, grabbing calum by the elbow. "go to the car, we'll find ashton," the boy says, close enough to calum's ear that he can tell it's an order, not a suggestion. he looks away when he hears the _his_ name, and offers him a nod instead. he crawls his way out of the ocean of people, avoiding the dirty looks they were giving him and the feet of people too caught up in their own to notice him pushing, but he starts to lose air again even if he's keeping his head above the water. he's drowning in neon and electro and it's weird how he could get lost in this, be alright just staying here until he loses consciousness, but michael and luke and ashton ashton ashton and you're an idiot you have to go.

when he makes it out of the club, he runs to ashton's car, and feels sick, really nauseous and broken, and he feels like puking out everything he's been keeping inside, not just the alcohol, but all the little things like how twisted his insides are and how stupid this whole night has turned out—how stupid he's turned out. he slides down the side of the car and just sits there silently, too numb to care that people are staring at him like he's a little kid. he feels like one, so lost and so small against the world. _it's just the alcohol_ , he keeps telling himself but he doesn't know how long that lie will last. the one about ashton didn't.

it feels like hours before he can hear someone pulling him back. it's all white noise in his head at first, dilating, clearing out, focusing, and he can make it out now: "hey cal, c'mon, we gotta go." it's luke. "shotgun with mikey. i'll take ash, he passed out." cal nods, and fumbles with the door handle behind him before he hears the click and pulls himself off the ground onto his seat. he feels michael slide into the driver's side, and he turns to the window to avoid him and luke because he's not ready. he needs sleep, needs to let everything cool down before he has to think about this again, and he swears to himself he's not avoiding it but he knows that's just another lie, another one to the long list of things he's been lying about all night. they give him space, don't bother talking, and calum's thankful. the engine roars and they start moving down the street, back to wherever they were staying, and it's peacful for once in his head, and he thinks maybe the alcohol is wearing off, but he knows it's just starting to kick in.

when the city lights haunt his vision, they blind him, force him to close his eyes and that's all he remembers, the soft grind of the engine and the heavy breathing of everyone in the car (if he tries hard enough he can focus on ashton's breathing, how slow and calming it is, but he doesn't) that lulls him to sleep. it's dark now, empty, and he's okay with that, for a little while. just for now, just until he can think straight again.

(he zeroes in on ashton's breathing anyway, because it almost feels like he's sleeping next to him that way, and he's still looking for the comfort his whole self has been aching for. calum has no one, when he could have. _he could have._ )


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if ashton was the sun, and calum was the sea, then that means ashton fell into him. except, that’s not how it went. not at all.
> 
> or; the day after, and calum knows how he feels about ashton, but that doesn't mean he's going to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c'mon, you all honestly gave up on me. i know you did. and i almost gave up on myself, but i kept the file on my desktop staring at me everyday, and eventually, i had to deal with it. it's not perfect, it's not what i expected, but it's something. so enjoy, or not, HAH, and tell me what you think. or not.

the first thought calum has the moment he wakes up was vegemite. then toast. then _fuck alcohol_. he stares at the ceiling for so long, at the empty space of white stretching to the four corners of his room, until the pain in his stomach starts becoming unbearable, twisting his insides, and he has to run to the bathroom. he's so sick and he doesn't even know why, he only had like 7 drinks last night, 8 with that one shot, and then he remembers why he took that one shot in the first place so he starts puking down the toilet even more till he's red in the face. he can't decide if the warmth he feels from his chest to his forehead is from the hangover or not. maybe it's from regret, but it's still too early in the morning for him to be thinking about it (it's 1 in the afternoon when he checks, but _fuck that thank you very much_ ). for now, vegemite. and toast.

when he stumbles downstairs, his hangover cure is already there, on a plate and everything, which is oddly sweet and makes him light up inside. there's a note right next to it in scribbly handwriting that's hard to make out when the world is spinning. (actually, calum's sure **he's** spinning at this point, because _wasn't that table he can feel behind him just in front of him, like, a second ago?_ ) he drops down to the floor and grabs for the paper once he feels it in his hand. he breathes in, pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes until he gets used to more than one colour at once, then reads.

_went out with mikey._

_if you get a call from the police station, get my mom and bail us out._

_\- luke_

_p.s. hope you feel better. enjoy the sandwich._

he goes over it for what feels like a hundred times until he's got it memorized, mostly because he couldn't the first time around, and not the second, and not the third, and definitely not the other times after, and if his face goes a little pale in disappointment every time he reads the p.s. because he has to wrap his head around the fact that the sandwich is not by who he usually expects it to be, then nobody has to know. not even him. (the sandwich also tastes horrible, but nobody has to know that either. _except_ him.)

when he gets to his room, he shuffles through the mess on the floor for something decent, washes out the aftertaste of alcohol and vomit, then grabs his phone and goes. he heads out, doesn't know where, doesn't particularly know why, just leaves. maybe he needs the fresh air like he needed it in the crowd, maybe not, and he almost laughs at the whole craziness of the notion of needing air in both a crowded space and an empty house but he doesn't because it's not funny at all. not when it feels like the knuckles in his hand are about to crack every time he tries to grab the phone in his hoodie’s pocket but then he doesn't. he's not that desperate, he keeps telling himself. not yet.

(he stills keeps his hand on it, fumbles with the lock on the screen and scrolls through his contacts knowing exactly when to stop. and that’s scaring him too.)

he goes around town in 6 different ways to avoid bumping into anyone on his usual routes, keeps his head down low just in case anyone might notice, but he’s safe for the most part. he looks ridiculous, like some kind of stalker without any kind of victim to follow around, but he figures he _is_ being ridiculous anyway. he feels like it at least, because he’s paranoid. every single messy haired blond kid is now suddenly hazardous. ‘warning: avoid at all costs’. and he isn’t talking to himself, more like, about himself at this point. calum is dangerous to anyone right now, could snap at any minute just because he keeps thinking _he_ could be everywhere he turns.

and that too, that thing he does, avoids his name but says _he_ in his mind with gritted teeth like “he who must not be named”. _he’s not voldemort, you can say it, c’mon_ , he says to himself, but calum doesn’t even let his defense slip.

he breathes in, breathes out, inhales and exhales, each one a little stronger and tenser than the last, and keeps going.

—

even if his legs should be breaking down after 4 hours and 3 coffee shop trips later,they don’t. they keep trudging through with no intention of stopping, no intention of letting the rhythm of the steps keeping his heart steady come to an end. he’s always wanted to run away as a kid but he never imagined it like this. he never imagined he’d do it out of fear of coming back home and realizing everything’s changed. he imagined it the other way around. coming back home and seeing everything is exactly as he left it, and understanding why he left in the first place. he never imagined he would want nothing more than that now.

it’s 50 minutes later when he finally stops, because he’s coming close to the coast now, feels the breeze in the air change from mildly calming to thankfully refreshing, and he stops only because he needs to take it in. he wasn’t planning for the beach, in fact he kind of lost track of where he was going 30 minutes or so ago, but he should have known his feet would bring him here. they have a nasty habit of doing this, he thinks. of being ironic. _of following fate._

slipping off his shoes, he pushes forward and steps onto the sand, lets the toes on his feet grasp each particle as every footprint he leaves gets deeper, and stops just before the line where the tide stops, just before water breaks apart and falls back into itself like a scared little child (and calum was one to talk about scared little children, of course), and sets himself down.

it’s not a few minutes later when he feels awkward legs stumble down next to him like they thought his silence was an open invitation.

he envisions a time when this kind of thing wasn’t the way it is right now and he grimaces. he can think of the first week. he can think of last week. he can think of all the other weeks in between. he starts to wonder if there’ll be any more, then he doesn’t, and he’s not sure why. maybe because he doesn’t know. maybe because he does.

“hey” is all ashton offers and “hey” is all he spits back, not so much with anger but with frustration. _hey_ is not how this should go. _hey_ is nothing like how this should go. _hey_ isn’t sorry. _hey_ isn’t forget it. _hey_ isn’t anything but an empty expression, to him at least.

he stares at the other boy with a dead look in his eye. the glow of the sun is illuminating his body. he traces his features — his bare muscular arms, his hair all tussled like he tried to get it to look right and then gave up — then he stops, because _where are they?_ the dimples. he’s not smiling. he’s never not smiling. then he laughs to himself. _of course_ he would notice. they leave his face, but they never leave calum’s heart.

they haven’t since day one.

in the time between point h(ouse) to point b(each), calum’s thought process went “i should quit. leave,” then “no. i can’t. for mikey and luke and… ” until finally he settled on forgetting everything and pretending it didn’t happen. between, of course, is never end, and right now, he thinks, fuck it.

he’s going to stop being a wuss and face him and tell him everything that’s on his god damn mind and exactly what he feels and he doesn’t know what will happen after that but he doesn’t care because this isn’t some cheesy chick flick he’s been forced into watching before and he doesn’t know what he actually wants after this anymore but all he wants right now is this. whatever this is.

because he’s desperate now. finally.

and just like that, calum grabs ashton’s face and does something he’s wanted to do since forever. he plants his lips on ashton’s own. he catches him by surprise, and there’s a moment where calum thinks _oh no shitshitshit wrongwrongwrong_ , but it doesn’t take long for the older boy to pick up on the action, and when he pushes forward, calum feels his heart flying away and it’s wonderful and exciting and thrilling and nothing like he thought it would be and everything he hoped it would.

when he pulls back to catch air, he takes in the whole picture before him and blushes. they’re back on his face now, and he realises how much he missed them. he feels hands brush the hair out of his face and it’s a familiar touch that lights up his heart, and there they are again like last night, _the butterflies_. he closes his eyes and he feels time slow down to the tiniest amount and it’s hyper-reality, is what it feels like. he can feel every tingle that the touch leaves on every inch of his face. once the touch is gone he feels the ache again, longs for those hands to be on his skin touching him everywhere like they were last night. he opens up to big green eyes, and he’s almost tempted to kiss those lips again, wipe away that smile and replace it with his own mouth, fall down the rabbit hole once more. almost. he doesn’t though. he needs to say this first.

“i’m sorry,” he says, a worried expression on his face. “and i love you.”

“yeah,” ashton says right back, and it’s weird that _hey_ might have not meant anything but _yeah_ does. he supposes that’s ashton irwin for you, and he supposes that’s calum hood for you too.

he soaks in all of ashton’s features one last time like this is the last he’ll see of him (and it is, he knows, because ashton after this will be different to him now) and then motions forward. ashton surprises him this time, takes the plunge quicker, and calum feels everything else before **this** slip away. he shouldn’t have been so afraid, he sees it now. he shouldn’t have been so worried. not with ashton. never with ashton.

they break apart a second time, an infectious smile on both their faces. calum notices the light on ashton dissipate, and for a second he thinks he’s done something wrong then _oh_. it’s the sun setting (it’s funny he can’t tell the difference between the sun and ashton) and just like always they fall into place and watch it go down, dipping itself into the water and cascading the surface with a bright orange before it disappears completely.

“funny,” calum says out loud.

he feels ashton’s body shuffle from its place so tightly next to his own. “what is?” the older boy bites back, his brows curved in confusion.

“sunsets,” he muses.

“what’s so funny about sunsets?”

he thinks about it. if ashton was the sun, and calum was the sea, then that means ashton fell into him. except, that’s not how it went. not at all. he knows very well it went the other way around, but it doesn’t work because ashton has to be sun, he has to be. so he tells him this.

ashton smiles that big goofy smile of his. “that’s because you keep thinking i didn’t fall into you,” he starts, “when you very well know that i did.” _okay_ , calum thinks, resting his head on ashton’s shoulder, _that’s a good enough answer._ ashton just gets it, just gets him, knows exactly what this needs to be. the past few minutes were not what he was planning, but it’s enough. ashton is enough. _this_ , whatever they had, have or will have; is enough. it’s always been.

calum’s phone goes off. when he picks up, he doesn’t even get two words in before luke’s voice comes through. “police station. bring mom. NOW,” they both hear before the line is cut. they stare at each other, shrug, and think of it as nothing new.

ashton stands up, holds his hand out trying to seem cool about it but failing. it’s stupid, they both think, calum especially, but they both know what it means. yesterday it would have been the start of something, if calum had taken it.

and now, well, now calum takes it. and he never lets go.


End file.
